


There With Open Arms

by cupcakentea



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (slight ?), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Beta Louis Tomlinson, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Harry Styles, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Smut, omega drop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28655958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcakentea/pseuds/cupcakentea
Summary: It’s only when he reaches his chest, dabbing at Harry’s scratches that he realises.Harry still hasn’t moved.“Baby, you know I don’t mind but just a head’s up, you’ll have to get up so I can change the sheets.”He’s only met with silence. When he looks up, Harry’s eyes look just as dazed as they did.Something is wrong.Harry drops, Louis brings him back
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 202
Collections: OmegaHarryFicFest





	There With Open Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Hannah and Stu for modding this fest !  
> Thank you to my beta [bananamission](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananamission) for your wonderful work and those comments that always warm my heart.  
> I've thoroughly enjoyed writing this one, I hope you like it too!
> 
> **Please do not repost this work on any other website. I don't allow translations at the moment.**

As soon as Louis steps in through the front door, he lets out a deep sigh. The day had been gruelling, his patience tested at every turn. From being late to school because of random roadworks forcing him to make a detour to a fight breaking out between two of his most disciplined students, Louis had felt himself rubbing his temples too often as the hours passed. Also, there’s only so many times you can tell a toddler to stop eating crayons. 

Stepping out of his shoes and taking off his jacket, he slowly makes his way to the kitchen, shedding his bag and his jumper on the way. He stops a few metres further, goes back to pick them up and rearrange them properly on the coat rack. There’s no way he’s welcoming Harry with very avoidable messiness tonight.

He doesn’t realise he’s smiling until he’s catching his distorted reflection in the door of the fridge. He’s not surprised, though. He’s been seeing glances of himself for the past seven months, lopsided grin plastered on his face whenever he’s thinking about the wonderful person that entered his life. About Harry’s clutter, electronic cartridges, and notebooks filled with gibberish Louis doesn’t try to understand slowly making their ways into his living room. His bedroom. The socks he finds mixed with his own sometimes, the odd sweater that’s a bit too big on him left on the back of the couch. It’s organised clutter, not like how Louis’ own can get sometimes. No, there are rules to Harry’s chaos. Ones that Louis is more than happy to welcome. Because Harry’s chaos, the spark of his sometimes goofy, often sweet personality, is what drew Louis in in the first place. Sat across Niall in the pub, lazily drawing a dick on the window, finger swiping the condensation with practised strokes. He didn’t expect to see another one, right on the other side of the pane, add a few well-placed hairs and dubious-looking drops. Didn’t expect the pretty face with thick-rimmed, wide glasses and even wider eyes staring right back at him, didn’t expect the slightly sheepish grin or his own loud laugh that startled Niall out of his monologue.

Louis didn’t expect Harry, really. But welcoming him in was the easiest thing in the world.

Still, he only has a bit over an hour to make himself slightly more presentable. The shower is a relief, hot water pummeling his tense back nicely, rinsing the tension off his body almost completely. They haven’t planned to do much tonight, TV and dinner - probably takeaway if they’re both too tired to cook. So, Louis picks a soft t-shirt and used sweatpants, their texture gentle on his skin. Just how Harry likes it. It helps that the tee’s colour bring out his eyes, too.

He spritzes a hint of cologne on the back of his neck, further than where he used to before, so as not to overwhelm Harry if he wants to smell him at any point during the evening. He’d forego it entirely if he didn’t like the scent so much, a Christmas gift from his sisters that he’d liked almost immediately. He doesn’t bother with his hair, hand carding through it to keep the longest strands out of his sight and forehead, tucking them behind his ears and praying they stay there.

He’s barely off the stairs when the doorbell rings, his back twitching up in silent response, feet half-gliding on the floor in his hurry. He opens the door wide.

“Hi.” He sounds breathless, unable to feel self-conscious about it as he takes in Harry’s almost relieved face. “Hi, love.”

Harry doesn’t answer, not immediately. His hands reach out, however. Come up to rest on Louis’ stomach, fingers stroking the fabric of his t-shirt tentatively. Louis can see the breath he takes in, long and deep, his chest expanding with it until the space between them is reduced to smithereens. He sighs then, just as long, just as deep.

“Wanna come in, love?”

Harry nods, a small bob of his head, eyes heavy behind his frames. He thumbs once more at the cotton and Louis’ hands come to circle his wrists, tugging gently.

“Come on then.”

He never had to ask Harry to take his shoes off, not once. Even the first time he came by, more than a month after their encounter and after weeks of them texting, Louis eager to spend more time with him with each passing day, he’d taken them off without any prompting. Tucked them right by the door wordlessly, beaten off-white Vans fitting right by Louis’ own pair. He’d wriggled out of his jacket back then too, just like he’s doing right now, the threads dangling from the small patches sewn here and there, dancing with each shake of his shoulders and arms. It comes to join Louis’ coat on the rack, falling neatly on the knob as Harry’s hands come to smooth over the fabric one last time.

“Hi, Lou.”

Louis can feel his mouth tugging. No need for glimpses or glances to check now. He doesn’t try to fight it at all.

“Hi, love. Wine or cuddles first?”

Harry’s lips tug too, a little twitch that has Louis’ heart doing somersaults.

“Any chance I can have both?”

Louis can’t help the amused breath he lets out.

“Go make yourself comfy, I’ll be right there.”

Harry doesn’t hesitate, heading straight for the living room while Louis walks to the kitchen, finding two wine glasses and the bottle he’d kept chilled easily before returning to his boyfriend. He finds him just as he thought he would, legs crossed where he’s sitting on what now feels like his side of the couch, one hand clutching the remote as he peruses what Netflix has to offer, the other gripping the small figurine he’d given Louis one day. A small, boxy thing that lights up, spelling Louis' name in the air with lasers that Harry had made himself one night instead of sleeping. The pad of Harry’s index swipes over its switch repeatedly and Louis wants to do the same on the side of his neck, right behind his ear, where Harry likes him to rest. To touch and still. 

“Found anything?”

“Mmmmmh not yet. Everything on the home page is like…. No.” His eyes swing over to him, bright and green and so lovely. “You added anything to your list?”

“I don’t think so,” Louis says as he sets the glasses on the small coffee table, corkscrew easy to find in the left drawer, right where he left it. He pours them a good amount of wine, pleasant pale yellow trickling nicely before he hands Harry his glass and settles against him. Harry rearranges himself without a word, barely a sound, his side coming to rest against Louis’ chest, angling them perfectly to end up tucked into the couch’s end,nestled against one armrest. Louis had struggled to drink at first when they did this, always worrying he’d end up spilling all of his drink over Harry and himself. But he never did, and now, the thought doesn’t even cross his mind. 

Harry let go of the small robot at some point, Louis too comfortable to dislodge them and check if it landed on the table or the floor. Instead, he sips his wine as Harry picks the first episode of Dirk Gently.

“That okay?” Harry asks. Louis doesn’t tell him he doesn’t have to, that he’s okay with whatever Harry wants, anytime.

“Yep, okay.”

Harry’s sigh is quieter this time and so is his smile, one small and pretty that he tucks right in Louis’ neck, tickling his skin with awareness.

“Thank you.”

Louis kisses his next words into his hair.

“My pleasure.”

They end up ordering food. A wide array of dim sum makes its way all over Louis’ coffee table, Louis stacking each of the containers’ lids so they don’t threaten to tip over the edge or bother Harry too much. 

At this point, Louis barely realises those things he’s integrated, these little splinters of knowledge that squeezed themselves underneath his skin, making him aware of all the ways in which he can make Harry more comfortable with easy, uncomplicated actions that barely take any time at all. New habits that are always rewarded with a twitch of Harry’s lips, sometimes a kiss where he can reach - cheek, forehead, often the plushness of his mouth. Those acknowledgements are the only reason he even realises at all, and the intimacy of it, of knowing Harry so well, makes his insides glow with a low hum.

Harry’s chopsticks dive into Louis’ dumplings, gripping one with an inordinate amount of difficulty before retreating victoriously toward Harry’s joyful face. As he tastes it, his eyes close with delight.

“You know, mister thief, we _could_ share the whole thing. I mean it’ll be less dangerous, I saw that one almost slipping.”

Harry just grins as he chews, teeth flashing. He waits, doesn’t want to talk around his mouthful. Louis is very tempted to praise him for it, but that would just derail them entirely.

“Nah. More fun this way,” Harry finally quips up after he swallows.

“Alright love, but you’re cleaning if anything falls.”

Harry’s greasy lips smack against his skin, making them both giggle. On the screen, Todd and Dirk are hiding in the shower, arguing or talking or something. Louis doesn’t really care, Harry’s warmth too distracting where it’s seeping into him, right where their thighs touch. He presses his own kiss on Harry in lovely retaliation, right where the curve of his ear begins. He blows gently on it, watches Harry’s shoulders rise as he squirms, teeth digging into his bottom lip to hide his smile from Louis. He fails, doesn’t seem to mind.

“Menace.”

Harry smirks, body rising and falling like a wave, a gentle tide. Not enough to buck off Louis from where he’s seated, shins pressed into the mattress, but enough to jostle him a bit. Louis kisses him, still, pulls his lips between his own and licks at them. Tasting, savouring, feeling the heat and sweat that pools between them thicken steadily, fueled by Harry’s cut off whines and muffled breath that hit the high of Louis’ cheekbones.

He can feel Harry’s hands smoothing over his thighs, carding through the fine hair, pads of fingers that press, explore planes and curves they already know. Maybe even by heart, now. Still, they take their time in touching, digging inside grooves, grazing behind Louis’ knees in a way that steals his breath.

“Louis.”

“Yes, baby. What do you want, love?”

He rests his forehead against Harry’s, allowing them both a pause. He likes this, these moments where there’s no rushing, not yet. Where they can let their breath mix, swirl in the space between them and swell with their desire for each other, for shared pleasure.

Harry doesn’t answer yet. He lets him, tries not to be too distracting even if he can’t help himself, nose nudging at Harry’s hair, filling his lungs with the smell of him. Pressing kisses on his temple, on the tip of his nose and watching his eyes sparkle when he lets his thumb rest where his left dimple peeks.

Harry hums, face searching for the crook of Louis’ neck to rest, nuzzling where his skin is warm and velvety soft and so tenderly his to have.

Louis waits. Always waits.

“Can I… hum. Can I fuck you?” It’s muffled, but Louis hears it very well, grin tucked in Harry’s curls.

“Of course you can. Would love that,” he replies. He likes this, too. How they check in. How they ebb and flow, take as much as they give, but always willingly, always reassuring. “Anything specific in mind?”

Harry’s head shakes underneath Louis’ chin, nudging it slightly. Harry’s fingers are on his back now, tracing the hollow space of his shoulder blades, digging into the muscles, caressing over his spine slowly. They feel like a river. Fresh, clear, nourishing. Singing their praise without speaking, carving love into every pore.

Louis cradles Harry’s face, bending to bring their mouths together again, slotting them with practice and comfort.

“Can I try something then? Anything wrong, you say the word and I stop.”

This time, Harry nods, their nose bumping with the movement and they chuckle, too enamoured to part, spilling laughter into each other. Louis pecks him again before haphazardly sliding off of him, Harry’s legs getting in the way and threatening to make him topple off the bed. He barely catches himself on Harry’s shin, his boyfriend too busy laughing to reach out and steady him.

“Fuck off,” Louis teases, tongue pushing behind his teeth in his attempt at looking stern. From Harry’s continued chuckles, it doesn’t work at all. Louis shrugs Harry’s teasing off, mind focusing back onto his goal. 

He manages to reach the end of the bed with a few swivels of his hips and knees, fingers still pressed on Harry’s tibia to anchor himself. Once he’s comfortably settled between Harry’s legs, sitting on his own heels with his knees spread wide for balance, he lets his hands brush the inside of Harry’s thighs. He feels the tremor beneath his palms, hears the sigh Harry lets out, happy to give himself over to Louis’ care. There’s a reward, a small kiss pressed on the side of Harry’s ankle while his fingers come to circle it, lifting his leg to drape it over his hip, to gain better access. 

There. He can see.

There’s already a patch of wetness underneath Harry. Not very wide, but its darkness is telling, visible on the terracotta coloured sheets. Louis wants to taste, thumbs coming to graze the slick skin of Harry’s ass, his cheeks. He loves how their bodies glide together, revelling in the beautiful feeling of warmth that slowly engulfs his fingers, Harry’s breath hitching at his touch before it morphs into a moan as Louis reaches his hole.

He can see Harry’s own fingers moving from the corner of his eyes, splayed on his chest and touching what they can reach; making himself feel good, getting lost in the feeling. It’s always intoxicating: the sight of Harry, the confidence and ease with which he plays with himself, strokes the flames as much as he pacifies them. Louis is more than happy to help. But first, he gives in, bringing his thumb to his mouth. His groan joins Harry’s own, his flavour bursting on his tongue. Tangy, addictive. As delicious as the first time he’d tasted it during the first of Harry’s heat they’d spent together. 

Saliva floods his mouth, gathering to drown the back of his teeth but that’s not what he planned so he resists, fingers going back to Harry’s body instead. They prod gently, petting Harry’s hole before easing in, prompting more slick to slip out steadily.

“Louis.”

He looks up, finding Harry’s eyes on him, hazy and dark. He places a kiss on his groin for safekeeping, another right above his belly button, leaving a lick there too for company. Tugs at Harry’s chin to catch his mouth, tonguing inside with the same rhythm as his fingers. The whines are lower now, nesting in Harry’s chest, flowing out as steadily as his wetness. It’s slowly dripping on the back of Louis’ hand, ticklishly reaching his wrist, pooling in his palm.

He backs away, letting Harry’s head drop back on the pillow to focus now on his own body. His wet hand leaves Harry. But he doesn’t go to wipe it anywhere. Instead, careful not to let any of what he’s preciously gathered spill, he reaches behind himself, probing, nudging.

From the noise he lets out, Harry understands. It’s a long, high pitch keen that fizzes out in a pant. When his finger slips inside, Louis moans too.

“Fuck.”

“Louis, oh god. Louis.”

Harry’s hands are back, body curved in a mid sit up that looks painful but he doesn’t seem to care. Instead, he touches, palms dragging on Louis’ skin reverently and Louis feels himself flush, heat coiling inside of his belly with how dazed Harry looks.

“So beautiful, Louis, fuck.”

He can’t help but grin, gasps as his second finger twists just right, a wave of heat hitting him and rushing through his limbs.

“Need more. Come on baby, need more.”

Harry nods, lays back hurriedly, spreading his legs even wider. Louis can see where he’s scratched himself, lines of red rising up against milk, leading to Harry’s nails now grazing his nipples. 

He’s not surprised with how wet Harry is when he reaches back. Overwhelmed, yes, but not surprised. His fingers plunge inside with ease now, Harry’s body welcoming him, clenching around him. He plays around a bit more, matching his movement inside him with the ones he’s applying on himself. The rivulets are wider now, more than enough when he brings Harry’s slick back to his hole, feeding his fingers into himself. 

Harry’s litany of whimpers has barely stopped, the clench of his belly strengthening the shadows that dance there. Louis knows he’s ready now, the stretch of his walls better, more forgiving.

“Gonna slick you up, babe, okay? Gonna slick you up and then I’ll sit on you, that good?”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Harry’s head bobs up and down, nodding along as soon as Louis opens his mouth and he’d laugh at his eagerness if it wasn’t so mutual, if Louis wasn’t fumbling to gather some more wetness and slick Harry’s dick up, squeezing its base as he goes.

“Louis, please.”

“Shhhh, I’m here,” he says, moving to straddle Harry’s hips, hovering as his pruney fingers come to Harry’s jaw, mouth meeting the lushness of his lips.

The tip of Harry’s cock bumps against his cheeks and anticipation is like lightning in Louis’ lungs, making him shiver. He reaches out behind him with one hand, bringing Harry’s hardness to his crack with a few fingers. The way Harry sighs at the touch is pure delight.

He guides them, feeds Harry to himself slowly, the glide smooth and perfect and as delicious as Louis remembers. It’s still a stretch, but a pleasurable one. One that makes him full, clench around Harry and here’s Harry’s hand clutching at his back, mouth open and body pliant.

“There you go, lovely,” Louis presses against his lips. Harry lets out a sound, something awed and strangled, close to a shocked sob. Louis kisses it away.

“Alright?”

“Yes, Louis, yes,” Harry whispers.

“Good. Just wanted to check in,” Louis smiles, grins really. Laughter is at the bottom of his lungs but he feels like Harry might take it the wrong way if he lets it out. Might think it’s teasing when, really, it’s just happy.

He tentatively moves his hips, sighs into the movement. It feels good. The angle is a bit awkward but if it means being able to press this close to Harry, to kiss the wonder from his face, he’s willing to make it work. He eases himself up slowly, bears down, motion gaining in fluidity and momentum as he goes. He doesn’t want to tire himself too quickly nor to have this time be a swift and hard thing. No, instead, he rolls his hips back and forth, letting them both feel the drag of it. 

“Lou,” Harry lets out, throat bared and head thrown back. Louis sinks in, ass meeting Harry’s groin, teeth biting down next to the Adam’s apple that’s offered to him. He can feel it work under his mouth, Harry swallowing a sob, a whine, his fingers coming to rest where he’s splitting Louis’ open. At the touch, the sound gets louder.

“Wanna thrust up, love?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answers, voice hoarse, close to completely gone, so Louis licks the marks of his teeth away, sealing his love under Harry’s skin where it rests. He picks up the pace gently, screwing himself, clenching where he can and bathing in the noises it elects from his lover, breath short and sweet. His hand slithers between their bodies, coming to wrap around his prick, nail dipping in his slit.

“Making me feel so good, darling. You’re doing so good, Harry. Being so, so good.”

There’s a sniffle. It doesn’t alarm Louis, Harry’s cried before. Instead, he just strokes his skin with his free hand, brushing against their chests to reach Harry’s shoulder, following the muscles until he finds his fingers, lacing his own with them.

“Close, sweetheart?”

Harry nods, wet eyes barely open now. Louis jerks himself faster, pleasure curling tighter and tighter as Harry’s dick only just grazes his prostate, tacky skin erupting in goosebumps. He can feel Harry’s belly seizing against his knuckles when they brush, hears his legs writhing against the sheets behind them. Harry’s tell-tale whine has him opening his mouth again.

“Come on, baby. My beautiful Omega, come on, let it go, baby.”

Harry comes with a choked grunt, salted water gathering under his eyes and closing in on his mouth. Louis follows it with his own lips, mind fizzing out with pleasure, eyes half-closed letting him contemplate Harry’s face. He can feel his thighs begin to quiver, forcing him to drop further down while Harry thrusts up with an aftershock, and suddenly Louis comes too, pleasure rippling through him, vision whiting out.

Silence rings for a few minutes, only disturbed by their breaths evening out. Louis sits up with a hiss, carefully letting Harry slip out with the slow trickle of warmth in his wake. Everything else is already drying, bodies sticky with sweat and slick and semen. He winces, thighs already getting sore. 

“Okay, love?” he checks in, fingers gently pressed on Harry’s face. There’s an answering hum, barely audible. His eyes are glazed over, expression serene and Louis would take his time to swell with pride if he didn’t know he should wash them both immediately. Harry distastes the dried bodily fluids almost as much as him, and they’ll probably need to change the sheets before sleeping. One glance at where they peek between Harry’s legs, bunched up against his ass and darker than usual, confirms Louis’ suspicions.

He stands up slowly, stretching his arms towards the ceiling until he feels something popping satisfyingly in his back. Turning back around, he smacks a small kiss on Harry’s cheek.

“I’ll be right back.”

The shuffle of his feet against the floor sounds almost too loud in the still quietness of the room. He walks over to the bathroom, washcloth found neatly folded over one of the cabinet’s handles. He lets it under the open faucet, mindful of the water’s temperature before cleaning himself in broad swipes, feeling fresher already. The remains are messier between his legs and on his belly but he takes care of it as well, needing to wash the cloth once or twice to be thorough. 

He picks a new one for Harry, dips it in the half-full sink before heading back to the bedroom. Harry hasn’t moved an inch. Louis cleans him just the same, more gentle with Harry’s body than he was with his own. He gingerly wipes his cum from Harry’s happy trail, cleans the inside of his legs and cheeks attentively. He rinses the cloth in the bathroom sink before coming back to wash the rest of Harry’s body, starting with his long legs. 

It’s only when he reaches his chest, dabbing at Harry’s scratches that he realises.

Harry still hasn’t moved.

“Baby, you know I don’t mind but just a head’s up, you’ll have to get up so I can change the sheets.”

He’s only met with silence. When he looks up, Harry’s eyes look just as dazed as they did.

Something is wrong.

“Harry? Baby, you alright?”

Harry remains still, and dread curls tight in Louis’ stomach. He reaches out, hand coming to cradle Harry’s face instinctively. His other one reaches for his wrist, fingertips flush against his pulse.

It’s steady, strong. And yet something is wrong.

Louis’ vision fogs up, blurring steadily. He hears himself sniffs, too loud in the quiet room.

“Harry?”

His voice sounds as small as he feels.

They never talked about this. About this happening. About what he was supposed to do nor what _he_ could do.

Louis leans in, leaves a small kiss on Harry’s forehead.

“I’m fixing this baby, don’t worry.”

He finds his phone in the pocket of his discarded joggers, near the door. He doesn’t look at his messages, fingers shakily clicking on the search bar to find whatever he can on omega drops.

He looks through the first three links quickly, a new layer of bitterness and frustration coming to coat over the panic flaring up in his chest like raging wildfires.

**How to use your pheromones to bring back your omega.**

**How to prevent omega drops with scenting.**

**Pheromones; the alpha’s secret for a safe omega.**

The following ones are even worse. He still skims through all of them, trying to find something, _anything_ that could help him. That could let _him_ help Harry recover, bringing him back.

But apparently, there’s nothing. Nothing apart from pheromones and scenting and bonding and that’s not something he’s doing right now. 

A beta can do _nothing_.

But that’s not something Louis believes. And he promised Harry he’d fix this. So he swipes his phone open and goes through his contact list, clicking once before bringing the phone to his ear.

“Come on pick up, pick up, pick up. Goddamnit, pickup!”

There’s a click on the other side, then a grumbly voice. “Louis?”

“Thank God,” Louis answers, eyes shutting with relief. “Liam, I need help.”

A shuffling sound, then a creak. “What happened, what do you need?” Liam immediately sounds more alert.

“It’s Harry. He… I think he dropped.” Louis tries to stop his voice from shaking, but he can’t, not fully. The tightness in his guts feels heavier with each second that passes without Harry coming to.

“Okay, Louis, deep breaths. How long has it been?” Louis’ eyes float to Harry’s body, asking for some sort of reassurance his boyfriend cannot provide right now. So, Louis gulps.

“I don’t know. I… Maybe ten - no fifteen. At least fifteen minutes. Maybe more, but at least fifteen.”

There’s a sigh of relief on the other side of the line.

“Fifteen is okay, Louis. It’s alright. Shit, I thought it was longer than that, the way you said it.”

“He’s never dropped before, Liam! I don’t - I don’t know what to do!”

“Lou, calm down. If it’s longer than like, four hours, then you can panic. But you’re with him, and it hasn’t been too long. Louis, it’s okay, he’s alright. He just needs you.”

As placating and collected as Liam sounds, the knots in Louis’ guts tighten painfully, the flames growing until they have nails that claw at Louis’ throat.

“But I can’t! I don’t have alpha pheromones, or I can’t scent him, Liam. I can’t reassure him like that, I’m not an alpha!”

“Mate, deep breaths, I said.” Liam’ tone is even gentler now. Louis never heard it quite like that. It’s an odd change, something he’d find fascinating if his mind wasn’t going haywire. If Harry wasn’t so still, so silent.

Liam’s words startle him, repeating what Louis missed by drifting off.

“‘How did - do you know why it happened, Lou?”

He shakes his head, even if Liam can’t see him.

“I’m not sure. He was good, or I thought he was. We just… We just had sex, and I thought he was good. But I think he must have dropped like, immediately after?” Liam just hums, effectively pausing him.

“To be fair if there wasn’t like, a sort of trigger or specific action, there might be a lot of reasons why he dropped. You won’t know until he tells you himself. But that’s not important right now, okay Lou?”

“I know, I need to pull him out.”

“Yep.”

“But Liam, that’s what I’m telling you,” Louis says through clenched teeth, “I can’t do that. I found nothing that told me how to do that that isn’t for an alpha. I can’t!”

Liam makes a noise at that, rumbly and annoyed.

“Like hell, you can’t. I don’t know what bullshit you found, but Louis, you’re his _partner_. You know him better than anyone else, probably better than me, okay? And we’ve been friends since middle school. So, pheromones or scenting might make this easier, I get that. But that’s not everything.”

Louis feels a weight slowly lifting from his chest. He puts his hand in its place.

“It’s not?”

“No, Louis, no. It’s not. He dropped. So that means you help him by making him understand it’s safe to come back. Body and mind. Something got too much and he trusted you to take care of him, so that’s what you do, Louis. This doesn’t have to be scary at all.”

“It is.”

“It’s not. Louis, he loves you. And you love him. There’s nothing new there. You’ve reassured him and took care of him a thousand times by this point. This time, he’s just not there to see it. But you know how to. You just, like, amp everything up. But you know how to make him feel safe, Louis. I know that, he told me. And you know that too. Alright?”

Louis’ throat works around the thickness that has gathered there. He lets the silence stretch for a few seconds, panic pulled from his limbs like poison from a wound, only to be replaced by determination.

“Alright.”

Liam lets a short, relieved sigh.

“Alright. Now, you hang up, you take care of him. And if at any point, you feel like you need me again, you call. Okay?”

“Okay, Payno. Thank you,” Louis says, tone lighter than it’s been in their entire conversation.

“Of course. Now go to your boy.”

Liam hangs up with a click and Louis walks to Harry’s side immediately. He looks just as serene as before, eyes almost fully closed now. It’s the only part of him that’s moved. Louis leans in, fingers carding through Harry’s curls.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”

Silence again, but this time it doesn’t push lead in his veins, only resolution. 

It turns out that when Louis and Harry play around and Harry makes himself heavy on Louis’ shoulders, asking him to drag him around or for Louis to carry him, he’s not making himself deadweight. Not really.

This, trying to lift Harry, to settle him in the bathtub, is carrying dead weight. Louis makes a note of apologizing to Harry and of openly appreciating his participation in weight distribution, even if it’s unconscious, when they do this with both of them awake. He miraculously manages not to bump their limbs into anything, although the frame of the bathroom door is a close call. Lowering Harry into the tub without slipping and braining either of them on the porcelain edge is another one. So, when Harry is nicely laid out and he remains standing up, Louis lets out a small sigh of victory.

“Okay love, we’re doing this.”

He checks the water twice, making sure it’s just how Harry usually likes it, just shy of scorching. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but when Louis turns around, Harry’s favourite sage soap in hand, he swears he sees something on Harry’s face. A hint of ease that wasn’t there before.

He cuts the water off once Harry’s chest is almost entirely underwater, his hands bobbing to the surface gently. Louis settles on his knees, chin coming to rest on his folded arms draped over the edge of the tub.

“You know, if someone was to come in right now, they’d find this very creepy,” he whispers. He doesn’t know if Harry can hear him, or if he’ll remember any of it. He likes to think that he’d laugh if he could.

He carefully picks Harry’s arms up, laces their fingers together for purchase. Like this, he soaps every one of his limbs carefully, his hands brushing, caressing in what he hopes to be a soothing way. An anchoring one. The smell of sage fills the small space, enveloping them in a green bubble that chases away the rest of Louis’ nerves. It’s grounding, taking care of Harry that way. Bathing him, holding him. Caring. Now that the fear is completely gone, there’s even a spark of something that shines, right next to his belly button. 

He’s honoured.

He dries Harry as gently as he can, picking the fluffiest towel he owns to do it. He doesn’t miss any spot, any crevice, meticulous in the way he is when trying to make sense of his students’ frantic speeches when they’re upset. Trying to pry what’s wrong out, leaving only right-feeling things behind.

He doesn’t want to settle back on the bed. The sheets are still dirty but he’s not leaving Harry’s side to change them. He’s just not. Instead, he darts out to gather his clothes, chosen earlier because he knows Harry is keen on their texture, the feel of them on his skin. Now, they smell like him too, and that’s something he knows Harry loves too.

He manages to bundle them in Harry’s lap, picking him up again and heading to the living room. There’s still a bottle of water on the table, an uncut apple Harry had picked before things had gotten heated, and their wine glasses, completely forgotten. He doesn’t pay them attention for now, preferring to lay Harry out on the couch, a distorted reflection of their position in the same spot earlier. Harry’s back rests against the sofa and Louis slides by his side, curling one arm around Harry’s waist to support him, his other hand coming to rest in his hair.

Goosebumps begin to erupt on his own skin, and he eyes the thick plaid laid on the edge of the couch, easily grabbed and draped over them.

“There, better lovely?”

There’s no answer, but he doesn’t mind. Instead, he starts humming, nails lightly scratching at Harry’s scalp, bringing his face closer to the crook of his own neck. His favourite spot.

They stay like that for a while, skin to skin, Louis’ breath fanning over Harry’s hair, dislodging a few strands that fall back on his chin, too feather-like to tickle. He doesn’t get tired of humming, of petting the back of Harry’s neck, of thumbing at the dip of his hips.

“You know, this could almost be very nice. Would definitely prefer you to be awake though,” he says, just because he can. After that, he doesn’t stop, thumb pressing down right behind Harry’s ear. A glowing tether.

“Baby, you’re safe. I’ve got you, okay Harry? I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever, okay?”

Another press of his thumb, a few minutes of humming.

“Did I tell you I love you today? I didn’t, did I? Well, that’s a shame. I love you Harry.”

A kiss pressed on Harry’s forehead, swirls traced on the small of his back.

“Honestly, I kinda get why you like this soap so much. It smells nice. You smell better, but it sure smells nice.”

He hums again.

“I swear you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He clears his throat, then, mouth suddenly filled with thick emotion. He resumes the melody he’d been singing only to be interrupted by a wet feeling on his neck.

He wants to move, desperately. But he doesn’t, nor does he stop his ministrations. There’s the smacking of lips, a swallow that doesn’t come from him. He just brushes his cheek against Harry’s curls in answer, sings a few more songs.

When Harry’s hand turns between them, palm resting flush against Louis’ steady heart, he speaks.

“Baby? Back with me, love?”

“Mmmhmm.”

He’s so relieved he could cry. Or burst out laughing. He does neither.

“Okay. Stay like this for a while?”

“Mmmh mh.”

Harry’s answers are more growl than murmur. Purrs. So, Louis tightens the circle of his legs around Harry’s, splays his hands a little wider, touches Harry a little harder. Trying, very hard, to ground him the best he can.

They lay there for what feels like eons, intertwined so thoroughly they blend together, time passing slow and thick like molasses.

Louis’ made Harry drink the rest of their water, hands now busy cutting the apple into small slices before feeding them to Harry, pressing each of them against his pillowy mouth.

“M’sorry,” Harry mumbles, cheek swollen as he chews.

“No.” Louis fixes him with a stare, faux-sternness completely falling apart to reveal the blinding fondness underneath.

“I am though,” Harry argues, hands resting where their bodies join, his bum nicely settled in Louis’ lap, legs carefully tucked between Louis’ back and the armrest. They’re clothed now, Harry dressed in Louis’ joggers and tee, Louis in briefs and a tank top that allows Harry to reach out and touch whenever he needs to. 

“Harry, love. You don’t have to be sorry. Why do you feel like you need to?”

Harry’s hands leave his lap, grabbing the threadbare cotton of Louis’ top with one hand, brushing it. The other just brings the one he’s wearing to his nose, letting him inhale more of Louis’ smell without breaking their staring.

“I should have warned you,” he just says. It doesn’t really answer Louis’ question, so he nudges him forward with a roll of his hips. Harry’s body sways like reeds in the wind.

“I didn’t… have a great day. I was tired. And emotional. And raw. Like, I knew how I was, how I felt mentally and I should have said before we had sex. Because sometimes, when I’m like this, this can happen. And you couldn’t have known, so I should have told you.”

There’s an ache in Louis’ limbs, one that doesn’t come from carrying Harry around the house or holding his frame on top of him for long like this. It’s one that resonates emptily, a room full of sorrow and sudden tidal waves of half guilt and half frustration. It doesn’t feel good, doesn’t feel right either. Still, it carries on, unwilling to dissolve on its own.

The silence stretches on.

“Louis. Talk to me, please,” Harry pleads. Louis immediately complies, hands reaching out to clutch Harry’s.

“I don't - I know I shouldn't feel like this. For fuck's sake I'm always telling my kids to be confident and to not doubt themselves and now look at me.”

Harry's hands brush against where they rest on his stomach, legs tangled together tightly. Fingers intertwining tighter still.

“Tell me, Lou.” 

“I don't… Sometimes I feel like, you know. Like I can't give you everything you need. Not that you ever make me feel like this! But sometimes I'm just… reminded? Let's say reminded. Reminded that, you know, there are things that I can't do for you and that someone else could.” He lets a beat pass, doesn’t dare looking up at Harry to see whatever shines in his eyes in this instant.

“And sometimes, it feels heavier. Because I wish I could. I wish I could do them, take care of you in every way. Make you feel safe, always. Know things, notice more than I can. Keep you safe.”

Harry’s fingers are almost painful around Louis’ now and still, he doesn’t want to let them go, not even for one second.

“Louis. Louis, darling, look at me.”

He does, finding a veil of determination and _love_ on Harry’s face that steals his next breath and beat of his heart away.

“You do make me feel safe. You get me, you get me more than anyone else,” Harry coaxes, sweetness spilling from his mouth to pool between their warm bodies. “And I like it. I like it that you can't smell my mood changing, I like that you don't have the urge to keep me close to you when my heat is coming, I like that you don't try to guess everything I'm thinking from my pheromones. I like all of it. I like that you always ask, that when you do notice something it's not because you've checked the air. It's because you’ve checked me. Because you can read me.” He jerks their hands once, marks his words with the movement.

“I like that I have to share things for you to know, and that I get to keep things to myself if I feel like it.” Louis nods, wanting to acknowledge what Harry is saying in any way he can. Letting him know that he’s being heard. And listened to.

“And Louis, you do make me feel safe. Because you let me be but you're still here. You're here and you always make sure I know. When I need you, you're here. And when I don't you're still here but I get to pick and Louis, I love that. Because that makes me feel safe. You always do. You, like, radiate this warmth and care and you feel so safe I want to soak in it all day and it’s ridiculous because I feel like a fucking cat, always climbing on top of you and nuzzling you and touching you. I mean, I’d be embarrassed if it didn’t feel so amazing.”

“Don’t be. I love it,” Louis quips up, unable to stop before the words are out. Harry doesn’t mind, beaming instead.

“I _know_. And that’s what I mean. Maybe being us means that we have to communicate more, sure. But that's not a bad thing. Not at all.” His curls bounce with the shake of his head and Louis reaches out, tuck the offensive strands behind Harry’s ears before letting him continue.

“I don’t want to be in a relationship where me or my partner are just assuming shit because our bodies tell us to. I don’t want that at all. I want to be sure, to tell you. And for you to tell me too.”

Louis feels himself smile impossibly wide, a bright beacon fueled by each and every single one of Harry’s words.

“And I get to be with you, so I'm good with anything, with everything. I love you, Louis. And that means everything that comes with you. With us. And if tonight has proven anything, it’s that you get me so much, and so well.”

Louis’ grin is teasing when he answers, “I love how you say that when you literally dropped.”

Harry hand shoves him half-heartedly before he even starts arguing back.

“Yes, I did. I felt very vulnerable, and it felt so good to be there, with you. I felt like, you know, it was safe for me to. It felt easy. And safe. And I trusted you. So, yeah, I dropped. I dropped and you brought me back. You took care of me, you made me feel so _right_ again. You brought me back. And you did it without anything that an alpha would have. Do you understand that it means I'm good, with you, I'm _good_? Actually, more than good. I’m splendid. You brought me back, Lou, all by yourself. I'm _safe_ with you.”

The thing is, he looks almost smug, praising how Louis makes him feel and it gets to Louis. That expression etched all over his features. Content, perched on top of Louis mere hours after what was one of the most terrifying moments of Louis’ life. 

“It was so scary, though. I was so scared you weren't. Weren't coming back,” he whispers, incapable of hiding the thought from Harry tonight. He lays everything bare, happy to let Harry catch him as he does so.

“I know, Lou”, Harry breathes, untangling their hands to cradle Louis’ jaw, thumb stroking his cheekbones tenderly. Adoringly. “But I am back, and all good. And now we know that, if it ever happens again, you know you can bring me back.”

Louis feels his eyes widen.

“Oh no. Oh no, that's not happening again”

Harry laughs. He _laughs_. Louis has a mind to swat his hands away, but he doesn’t, too happy to let himself be touched by his love.

“Lou, we don't know. It might happen. We'll do everything for it not to, but it might.” 

Louis’ arms tighten where they're now crossing across Harry's back.

“Damn right we're making sure it doesn't. I'm gonna communicate the shit out of you. I'm not leaving the bed for three hours when one of us gets his dick out.”

Harry’s cackle is loud and bright, the loudest either one of them has been for a while now. Louis leans in, kisses the sound away, tries to steal it inside of him to keep himself warm, always.

“Might be slightly overdoing it,” Harry lets out between two presses of their mouths. Louis dots his face with kisses: the bridge of his nose, its tip, his cupid's bow.

“Three hours.”

“Okay, okay. Three hours.”

Two months later, when Harry stops them from having sex, feeling too sensitive and unnerved by their upcoming visit of Louis’ family the following day to be sure he won’t drop, Louis thanks him. Tucks their bodies close on the couch, lays the plaid over them, cards through Harry’s hair as his face gets peppered with small pecks. When they drift off, bodies curved into each other, Harry’s robot is spelling new words into the air, lasers stark in the early night.

Like a lighthouse, guiding them to shore.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please consider leaving kudos, commenting and/or reblogging the [fic post](https://cupcakentea.tumblr.com/post/641671440192684032/there-with-open-arms-by-cupcakentea-its-only-when)!
> 
> title from "There You Are" by Zayn


End file.
